Oily!Unconscious!Faramir!

Oily!Unconscious!You-Know-Who

1. Oily!Unconscious!You-Know-Who

Author's Note: This was originally posted in November 2004 in the Outtakes thread for my story Fallen(which is not really funny, at all). The narrator is a young woman who works in the Houses of Healing.

***

"'Twas said," I whispered to Elloth, "that the Lord Faramir was brought to our Houses by none other than Mithrandir, himself."

"Huh? What was that?" the other girl asked. She had been staring at the inert form of our Steward's second son as he lay on the bed in a private room off the south ward.

"Never mind," I said, for now I was staring, myself. Faramir's skin, tanned, doubtlessly, from countless months spent tramping about in the Ithilien sunshine, glistened with moisture. This accentuated his delicate eyelids, distinguished Gondorian cheekbones, and pouty-yet-manly lips, which were open ever so slightly as he slept, making this warrior look surprisingly yet endearingly vulnerable.

"Um...Elloth?" I whispered. "Why is the Lord Faramir totally covered in oil?"

"I don't know," Elloth said, still not taking her eyes off of him. "But I like it." For once, I was forced to agree with her. The liquid had also soaked every inch of his plain yet well-tailored clothing. His white shirt, which was already loosened at the neck, had been rendered semi-transparent, and the drenched fabric clung artfully to his lean yet well-muscled arms and torso, sculpting itself to the strong curve of his biceps and the rise and fall of his chest as he drew in breath after slow breath.

"Well," I said, "we had better get him out of those oily clothes, huh?"

"Yeah," said Elloth. "Out of clothes...sounds like a good idea." She looked at me for the first time in several minutes. "You get the shirt, I'll get the pants."

"Now, wait a minute," I bridled. "I'm the actual healer in this room...you're just a pharmacist wannabe. I know more about these things. Shouldn't I be handling the pants?"

"Wait one more minute, little miss-know-it-all," Elloth replied. "I'm the one who's actually on ward shift right now. Shouldn't you be on chamberpot duty or something?"

I looked over at Faramir again. His trousers were also clinging to his legs in a most fetching manner... I wondered what Captains wore under their breeches... "Elloth, who are you talking about?"

"My point is, I should be getting the pants."

"You are not!" I said, and gave her a shove. She responded by shoving me back, even harder. To this day I do not have a clear recollection of what ensued in those next minutes, but there may have been some hair-pulling, nail-scratching, and possibly some exclamations of "slut!" and "bitch!"

"Girls!!" Suddenly, the Warden's voice rang out. I had my hands around Elloth's neck. She was pulling on a handful of my hair. "Girls!! What in the name of the Valar are you doing?!"

"She started it!" we exclaimed in unison. "I don't care who started it! You're both on chamberpot duty for the next two hours!!"

"But, Warden--"

"Don't 'But Warden' me!! This sort of conduct is totally inexcusable, even when there is an unconscious, oily, beautiful Steward's son present! Have I made myself quite clear?"

"Yes, Warden..."

As we slunk out of the room, Elloth gave me one more shove. I shoved her back, this time hard enough so that she shrieked and collided with the opposite wall. That felt pretty good, but still not good enough to compensate for what had just happened. I gave one more backwards glance at Lord Faramir lying on the bed. Oh well, I thought. He might stay unconscious for a good while longer, for all we knew...

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.